An Awkward Conversation - yet again.

[seraphim]

Seraphim was in the back of the smithy. This way she could finish with some of the Ulster's weapons in peace and since the English seem to leave her be for the most part, less likely to draw attention that she was repairing the "enemies" weapons. At the moment, she was attacking a sword with a wet stone. She was in her working leathers, men's clothes, she had only the one pair of brown leather pants that were a bit tight around the more female shaped hips and rear, but all together not obsene, a mens white shirt with the sleeves rolled, exposing those tan, slender arms, though lightly muscled from her line of work. The leather apron was hanging by the door, over a pile of shields and blades that she'd already fixed and needed to be cleaned. Sitting on a stool as she worked, the flat and hilt of the blade against her thigh as she ran the stone in long sharp strokes down the blade. Her hair was uncovered since she did not expect visitors at the moment. The inky tresses were parted down the middle, though hse had slept less and less since coming here, she looked a bit wild as her hazel gaze was focused so closely on the blade before her. [d]

What would Phrim make of the man who would appear in the door way of her Smithy? The man's form was outlined against the door, where he would linger for a but a few moments. This was done to let his eyes adjust to the light. Had Phrim been caught up in the local legends and faerie stories, like most of the other Irish? For as the man stepped into the forge properly, she would find him wearing earth-toned colors. But what was most remarkable about him, was his exposed flesh. The man's face, fore arms, and
JackoftheFaerie: hands had been daubbed with woad paint. The deep navy woad formed an interlocking desgin of knots, accenting his otherworldy appearance. Then he smiled, seeing her. "Are ye tha' one called Sephrim?" (d)

Phim would almost jump out of her skin, she was so intense on her work she did not hear the man. These IRISH! Sneaky, folk. Mairi had done the same sneak trick and Carrick did it sometimes as well. She'd take a breath, thankful she didn't cut herself on the sword she was sharpening. Standing quickly though, she'd turn to look at the man, her height not to far from most men, thus the view was quick. Was this part of the shideem front they were putting on for the English? If so, it was a bit impressive. The blade was limp at her side, pressed along her thigh as her other hand held the wet stone. Absently, she'd shake her head amoment in wonderment at these people, also pushing those wild haphazard locks from her face. Put her in some paint and she would be sure to scare, too. Her voice was that soft, clear warmth it usually was, though from her stoic expression, she didn't look too friendly, "Seraphim, Sire, I am. May I help you?"[d]

Simply said, it was more than that the war stragety. For Jack was called Jack the Half-Blood, for the very blood of the shideem ran through his vanes. Jack smiled softly, "I did nae mean ta scare ye, Sephrim. I dae wish ta simply introduce meself." (d)

"Ah..well met, then, Sire.." Sephrim? She was not sure she liked how that sounded, strange, to her ears. Seraphim would tap the blade against her leg before side stepping the stool to offer it to him, setting the blade and stone down against the wall. [d]

There was a smile, "I am Jack Mac Tuatha'an.... I am tha Ceannfort's Consort..." He grinned broadly, "I dae appologize iffen Mairi t'was a bit tae... forward... wit' ye. 'Er brother, Carrick, t'was tha one tha' asked 'er ta meet wit' ya." (d)

Phim hissed as she covered her lips with her fingertips, the poor nails worn down again from the constant work without break. They were dirty also, but she didn't seem to care as her cheeks flared red under her freckles and bronze. What was it with these people?! She was ready to throw up again, just having forgotten half of Mairi's converstaion finally. But to be polite, she'd just give him a wide eyed nod. [d]

Jack smiled at the blush, knowing what she was thinking. Phrim could rest assured that Jack would no doubt end up teasing the Hell out of Carrick. This was truly something Carrick should've been brave enough to talk to Phrim over. Or, better yet, to have demonstrated himself. Jack said none of this, of course. There was a gentle bow, "I simply wished ta make myself known ta ye." There was a smile, "Iffen Mairi tis tae... forward... wit' ye again, ye simply let me know. I keep 'er in check... most of tha times." There was a grin. (d)

Her voice sounded faint, all of the blood rushing to her head so often as of late was going to cause damage to the area, she as sure of it. And she was more certain now than ever that she was going to beat Carrick! "Yes, Sir, of course.." Her hands were lowering from her face before folding tightly before her. [d]

Jack smiled softly, "In time, m'lady, ye shall be findin' yerself more Irish than Mairi er meself..." It did seem to have that effect on people. Everyone not of Irish blood that come to erie, seemed find it slowly moving into their blood. They became more Irish than the Irish. Or came close to it, anyway. (d)

"Ah, if you say, Sir..Might you need anything while you are here?" She was ploting against Carrick in the back of her mind, each smile this man gave her, that knowing smile of stupid things she'd asked the man that she trusted to keep his big head shut! [d]

Carrick would have it coming from both ends, it seemed. Jack truly felt that this was something that Carrick should have done for Phrim. Jack grinned and offered a bow to her, "I dae nae. Iffen ye will excuse me, I shall be duckin' back ta tha wild lands." (d)

Phim would nod again, "As you wish, please come by if anything is needed.." She felt she was being rude, which was off for Seraphim, but she was a rare non talking woman, or so she was told, and her general shyness has gotten better over the last few years, but things like this just send her into a tailspin. [d]

Jack smiled and offered her another bow of his head, before he gently took her hand. There was a gentle squeeze. A squeeze that said, 'ye need ta bear wit' us'. Then he slipped out. (d)

Phim bobbed a quick curtsy as he bowed, but the hand taking was a surprise, her hand was long fingered and a bit rough, but that was to be expected, warm and dry though. She'd get her hand squeezed and he left. This place was just bizarre. [d]

[seraphim]

Carrick got the signal from Jack, so he was in a hurry to get back to Ulster. He was to get there first and prepare the troops in Ireland. With a serious expression he directed men ordering items onto the Lagan, Ulster's smallest but fastest ship, and then went back for Searphim. No doubt she had received his missive indicating the plan. He went back to the smithy she had been using to find her. He was not yet painted, but he was ready for war, and there was a violence to his steps. He wanted to know that she would be safe. His steps were loud as he approached the smithy. There was no sneaking this time, he called out her name. "Seraphim a stor," he called, a gentle but firm tone. (d)

She heard her name, heard his voice. She came around a half wall that was hiding most of the cleaned and repaired weapons for his people. She looked like her Father’s people, a Valkyrie ready to smite the man she loved. Her head was uncovered, ink hued tresses flying about her in a waist length haphazard way, as if the strands had minds of their own. That tall, slender woman looked ready for a fight, which was saying something since that stoic face had such an icy glare. The Irish should paint her up as the Fey, for she would be something to run from. She was clad in the white men's shirt and the little too tight for a woman's leather pants, her workers apron over the chair as she finally found a moment to sit before he showed up. She had been working nonstop for days. That soft voice held an edge to it, "You."[d]

Carrick knew that look well. Irish women wore it often. He knew it well enough to stop in his tracks. He looked behind him, half-wishing Jack was here to bail him out, or even Murphy, but it was not so--the two of them were already preparing for war. Looking at her, he put up a hand and asked: "My love, what have i done?" (d)

As soon as she reached him, not a bit of him was spared as her nimble fingers started pinching any part of him she could touch. Her words pointed, "Spoke to the world of what I asked!" Her cheeks flared red, a determined look on her face - most likely determined to stay mad at him, "Sending you Sister and her..her..husband!" PINCH! -d-

"Seraphim! No, I did not tell the world...I asked Jack to ask me sister an'..." He grabbed at her wrists, and attempted to secure them, though not violently or forcefully--just enough to stop the pinching. He also attempted to slowly--non threateningly--back her up against that half wall without closing the distance between them. "That hurts, ye stop it now--ye want the truth of yer question? The answer will hurt ye more than the act could." He had a bit of hurt in his own eyes, and anger, but he kept it to his voice and not his grip. (d)

"I asked you, not strangers." Her lips were pressed together as she was being backed up, her rear hitting the half wall as she moved her arms, they were strong, but he didn't resist too much, poking him where she could. She was still blushing, but she was so taken aback by the people coming to talk to her of such private things! [d]

He gave her the answer he sought then. "I have been with women before," he explained softly, a tinge of regret in his eyes, "but all had been had before I got to them. I've no way of knowing if it would hurt ye, only that I would be slow an' gentle an' attentive." He blushed now a bit too, partially in frustration, and partially because he was actually talking about what he wanted to do. "I did not mean to hurt ye....ye just don't understand how me people are an' I'm sorry." He was frustrated with that fact, and he let go of her arms completely.(d)

"You sent a man to me about this! All you say is, "You do not understand us!" It is my fault I am not Irish enough for?" Frowning cam easier to that face than smiling, which she was doing now at him, frowning. Another firm pinch to his side before she'd reach up and gently tug on his ear lobe, gentle because he was now making her feel guilty, which is why the pinch was firm. She knew from the moment he showed feelings towards her that he would always win between the two of them. [d]

"I did not send Jack! I sent him to me sister, because he is with her...he can talk to her about these things. I am her brother...and she is too forceful with me, but she is a good healer." He explained. Somewhat puzzled by his actions, his instinct was to move in close and kiss her, but past experience had taught him better. "It will come in time, once ye live among us; it is me own fear that ye will not like me clann an' me people, fer I know they like ye." His eyes followed that hand after the pinches, to which he barely reacted at this point. There was only his worry, which hung in his eyes. (d)

The fingers at his ear would curl a bit, fingertips stroking along the curve of his ear as she looked into his eyes, she knew she should of punched instead of pinched, but he would be bruised enough soon, "I do not care if others like me, Carrick. That has never been something that mattered." She'd sigh then, her head bowed a moment, that wild hair falling around her face and shoulders to hide her features, gaze looking at the untucked hem of her men's blouse. Why could she not be harder on him? This was not fair! [d]

He would not be too hard on her, then. His features softened at her touch, though his jaw was still tense. "I apologize fer offendin' ye." That was all he had needed to say, and he knew it. Looking down at his feet, the warrior moved slightly closer, placing his forehead to hers. He could have been forceful, could have pressed against her while her back was to the wall, but he did not. He instead kept his distance, but stuck his neck out to offer the most apologetic kiss he could muster. Sweet and fair, balanced and true. (d)

Hazels shut as his forehead touched hers and she'd sigh softly, his apology accepted as she returned his sweet kiss just as softly as his. Her hand that had been on his ear was on his shoulder, her hands never seemed still as the fingers curled a moment as she slid it towards his hair, touching the strands lightly. As the kiss broke, she'd sigh again, keeping her eyes shut though. She knew the main reason why he was here, she was so tired, "Your weapons are repaired, clean, as are your clothes.." Jack had bundled them up for her before she went back to smithing from her simple sewing, she was not good at that. But it would get them by. [d]

He kissed her forehead. She would make a good wife. He allowed a generous smile so that she knew it, and a rough hand caressed her chin gently. "Thank ye for seein' to that. Ye look tired, a stor. There will be time aplenty to rest on the ship, an ye'll have time to rest when we get ye settled in Ulster. It won't be safe fer ye to be in town fer a week or so I imagine, but ye'll be hidden in a village an' won't have to work so much." His hand moved to stroke her hair, and he still kept that distance between them, for propriety. This was a serious battle, and there was a good chance he wouldn't make it. She was so dutiful, and pretty--but he wouldn't give her regrets just so she could know the answer to her question. (d)

She never asked to be shown the answer to the questions, not now, anyway. Why did everyone just assume she was ready to..to...anyway. She'd look up at him, anger in her eyes again, "I am to leave? Again?" She sounded hurt, her hand slid against the back of his neck as she was prepared to cling to him if he made her leave. [d]

"Ye will travel to Ulster, quickly with me...but I was thinkin' of settlin' ye in a village fer the week or so it will take fer us to reconquer Dunluce with the fine weapons ye made." His answer was gentle, and he took her hand in his. He would not push her away. "I will get messages to ye frequently if I cannot stop by meself to visit. Me men an' I are ambushers; Jack an' Mairi are to meet them head on. I am to keep the Anglish from escapin' and harmin' the villages like the one where I intend to stow ye."

"Your sister is with child is fighting, but I am suppose to stand by and wring my hands with another strange village?" Her hand was now in his, her back still against the half wall as she looked at him, no one had ever made so many feelings turn so quickly in her. It was horrible to be without him, more confusing to be with him. It wasn't unpleasant except she had been working hard with little food or sleep, she just wanted to knock him over the head and drag him into a cave to hide until this was over. The forge crackled on the other side of the room, her work space clean, for the most part, it was a good front of the English that came to stop and gawk at the strange woman smith. [d]

"Of course I won't stop ye from fightin' ... ye were grand in Avalendor, a stor, simply grand...." he grinned at that, and kissed her forehead again, a hand gentle on her cheek. "I simply wished to give ye the choice, a stor. Ye work very hard at yer craft." His hand moved down toward her shoulder, which he squeezed reassuringly. "I do not want an Irish woman, I want yerself...though ye fight with the tenacity of one, in an argument an' in battle." He grinned with approval. (d)

She flushed at his words, and when his hand squeezed her tense and sore shoulder, a little moan slipped those wide pink lips, eyes shutting a moment as her head hit shoulder. "You make me completely beside myself," this was murmured into his shoulder as she hid her face from him behind his shirt and her hair, the waist lengths sliding against her back and shoulders. [d]

He wouldn't hide his grin as he at last embraced her, one hand on her back and the other stroking her hair. "Ye do much the same fer me, a stor." His voice was gentle and quieting. He adored her honesty. (d)